Early Monday morning I abandoned Stella to the mercy of Rosie, and embarked upon a transition year outdoor pursuits trip to Donegal. No, I haven't landed a teaching job, I just provide cheap, grateful labour to the secondary school I last taught in. Not many teachers want to go on these sort of trips, but I'll take anything right now. I went on much the same trip
last year, only to Killary Harbour. But there'll be divil a cute-faced German girl sniffing around this time. I'm engaged these days, and the women can smell it off you sooner than you'd get a chance to even drop the casualest reference to a fiancée into a sentence. Which is handy, because I don't get to wear the early warning system that the ladies so usefully sport on their left ring finger. I kinda wanted to have an engagement ring too, but was told that would be both lame
and gay. It would be. And Rosie's jeweller sister is refusing to make our wedding bands until pretty close to the day itself because she reckons I would immediately start trying to wear mine. The perceptive bitch.
But this all academic right now, my friends, because what I wish to alert you all too is something the ginger foghorn of a kid sitting two rows back from me was anxious to be back home in time for on Friday night. It's
Traffic Blues, Ireland's very own answer to
Police, Camera, Action! and
Road Wars. But there's little in the way of drugs, shooting and helicopter chases. Instead, you've got Garda Gerry ordering a Nigerian woman to pick her chewing gum up off the ground while he breathlessly, needlessly recounts the story to the camera over a dramatic soundtrack that just screams "check the fuck out of how intense this shit is!" Or another occasion where the boys in blue board an empty schoolbus, leaving the driver trembling in their wake as they admonish him with "Five of those seatbelts are broken, would you maybe get them fixed sometime, like?"
The only shocking thing about this show is how RTÉ managed to dream this up before TV3.
Update: A quick check on Youtube shows me that this yoke's been running for nearly
a year now. Why the fuck did no-one tell me? I thought I was going to blow your minds with this shit! Clearly I'm way too cool to be sitting in watching telly of a Friday evening.
11 comment(s):
How is Stella surviving being separated from you?
Or more to the point, how are you surviving being separated from stella?
hink both are suffering as a consequence, J.
erm, "i think", not "hink". it's early.
Jennie - I've read about 400 pages of my buke this week just to keep my mind off her. But wherever i go every tree I see reminds me of a really, really big Stella.
Rosie - You've fed, watered, tickled and sung to her from the back catalogue of Burt Bacharach, haven't you? So she should be fine.
that sounds suspiciously like the academy attended by Drummlet #3
You have a Drummlet in a south Dublin school?
IndeednIdo...
oh dear, i thought you meant you'd one in Templemore, the police academy. i spent two weeks there, and it was just like the films.
Rosie, were you ag muinteoireacht or was it a momentary career move?
transition year work experience, of all things. i spent two weeks living in there, training with the yellow-packs.
The square-bashing must have been fun.
Not your gaff Andrew, but I bet some of your charges were six years in the same primary school with my youngest.
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